


Unafraid

by MellytheHun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Claustrophobia, Derek returns, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Trapped, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek returns to Beacon Hills just in time to get cornered and trapped by hunters with Stiles. The time alone and impending death offers them the perfect setting to say the most important things. Originally on my Tumblr, prompted by halestereks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unafraid

Stiles pushes at the steel ceiling uselessly, smacking it with the flats of his hands. It’s so dense that it doesn’t even make the sound of a vibration when Stiles hits it. 

He knows there are no air vents.

He was able to get a glance around his small prison before the hunters slid the top closed.

Stiles is aggressively trying not to panic.

The surrounding concrete walls are at least five feet underground; there’s a sort of soil and moisture feeling in the air even while they’re unable to see outside their box. 

Stiles takes a step backward and his spine awkwardly meets the wall in the dark. His breath is sort of shallow despite his best efforts to remain as calm as humanly possible.

There’s a dull, but heavy noise from above that makes Stiles jump.

“They just parked a car on top of us,” Derek explains.  


Stiles looks towards the opposite wall where he knows Derek is. He wants to believe that his eyes are adjusting to the oppressive darkness; he thinks he sees Derek’s outline, but it’s just the spelunker illusion. His brain is determinedly trying to cooperate with him, trying to make this slightly less terrifying. It’s a valiant effort by his survival instinct, however futile. 

He slides down the wall and sits on the hard floor. Visions of two tall skeletons being discovered by curious teenagers pass through the theater in Stiles’ mind. He imagines the two of them, just a few hours from now, air gone, sleeping forever. 

There’s very suddenly a bright blue light taking up their prison and Stiles blinks rapidly to adjust to it. When he’s done squinting and seeing squiggles from under his eyelids, he realizes that Derek’s made his irises light up.

“That’s so weird…”  


“What?” Derek asks.  


“I just… I don’t know, I always thought it was a trick of refracted light that made it seem like your eyes actually _glowed_.”  


Derek doesn’t respond to that, maybe unable to. Stiles has never put much thought towards the bizarre bioluminescence of the Weres’ eyes. Derek probably hasn’t either.

Stiles’ heart is very, very loud, even to him and he’s opening his mouth to ask, but Derek answers him before it’s in the air.

“They’ll find us.”  


“But we’re -”  


“They’ll find us, Stiles.”  


Stiles considers letting his panic just take over, get him angry and shaky, but it will only cost more oxygen and he’s too petrified to even think long about the implications of that.

_Will they find us in time, though_ , Stiles wants to ask, but doesn’t.

Instead, he mutters defeatedly, “looks like we’ll be trapped here for a while, then.”

“Looks like,” Derek replies.  


Stiles scowls at him.

“You don’t even have to be here.”  


Derek is silent. He isn’t looking at Stiles either. Maybe Derek’s not looking directly at him because the shine of his eyes are like flashing cameras and he’s trying to be polite, maybe he’s not looking at Stiles because he’s embarrassed or uncomfortable. Maybe he’s not looking at Stiles because he agrees.

“Why did you even come back? Why is it always the eleventh hour with you?”  


Derek blinks lazily at the wall Stiles is propped against and asks softly, as if he knows the answer, “would you have preferred I stayed gone?”  


“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles lies emphatically, drawing his legs up to his chest.  


Silence falls between them again. Stiles lets out a slow breath and he shuts his eyes, trying to avoid the guilt of contributing such a length of carbon dioxide. His head tilts forward as Derek’s leans back. Derek’s eyes are downcast, making the light in their prison dimmer and easier on Stiles’ growing stress headache.

“I get the whole angsting over having the blue eyes, but they’re pretty.”  


Derek makes a disbelieving snort, his brow sort of stressed in confusion.

“Really,” Stiles murmurs, looking at how the light spreads over the floor.  


There is some blood in his mouth from getting punched and there’s a film of grime over all his clothes. His shoes are muddy and almost worn entirely through. He supposes that being able to see the fine details of the mud splatter on the hem of his jeans means that Derek is looking at it too.

Stiles licks his top row of teeth, sweeping up the blood there with his tongue and swallowing it. He feels his throat bob and it makes him feel very human and very vulnerable and evermore frightened.

“It looks like moonlight,” Stiles adds reverently.  


And it does. The light that’s cast from Derek’s eyes is a pale blue-white glow, like a moonbeam cradled in Derek’s stare. 

“Maybe the blue eyes make you closer to the moon than all the others,” Stiles wonders aloud.  


“I’m sorry,” Derek says, as if he was part of an entirely different conversation, “if it’s any consolation.”  


Stiles’ eyes well up and he lets go of his knees, falls back against the wall and lolls his head back so that he is still looking at Derek. His voice is weary, betrayed and watery when he asks, “how could you leave me here alone?”

“You’re not alone,” Derek supplies, as if this was his practiced justification, “You have all the others.”  


“Derek,” Stiles presses, a silent ‘ _you’re not fooling anyone_ ,’ existing behind his name, “you _know_ what I mean.”  


Derek doesn’t answer, his jaw working.

“Mine might not glow, might not be visible to the seeing world, but I’ve got blue eyes too.”  


Derek’s eyes dim a little and he glances up directly into Stiles’ teary gaze.

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asks again.  


Stiles realizes after the words are out that there is a feeling of such significant intimacy for more than that they might be sitting in a shared coffin. 

His heart thuds.

“You,” Derek admits on a sigh, looking away again, “you’re the only reason I keep coming back.”  


“Scott -”  


“I don’t love Scott.”  


Stiles’ chest tightens and he picks his head up to look more certainly at Derek.

“I care about Scott,” Derek starts casually, “I care about Lydia, Kira and I care about your father and Melissa and this town.”  


He looks at Stiles again, great purpose shimmering in the electric blue of his eyes.

“But I wouldn’t climb back into this torture chamber of a forest for them and I wouldn’t kill myself a thousand times to save them and I wouldn’t follow them into the mouth of Hell.”  


There’s a few beats of awed silence where Stiles thinks he might be hearing Derek’s heart beat too. A tear falls down Stiles’ cheek, unnoticed by him.

“But I’ll climb for you and I’ll kill for you and I will follow you down into this Hell however many times you throw yourself into the fire.”  


The words are so heavy, so honest and bloody raw that Stiles has no appropriate response.

“I’m scared you wouldn’t be saying this unless you thought we were going to die.”  


“Not today,” Derek supplies frankly, “but men like us, with the lives that we lead, don’t die of old age. But I’d rather die bloody and aching and broken on the ground to be where you are than live some life on cotton linen somewhere else.”  


Stiles stares wide-eyed at Derek for a long few moments before asking sincerely, “do you know that I’m in love with you?”

Derek’s brows spring up, “…no.”

Stiles nods and falls over onto his knees so he can crawl into the space between Derek’s legs. He settles there, leaning his back against Derek’s chest and bringing Derek’s arms around his waist. His head is pillowed by Derek’s shoulder, his forehead meet’s Derek’s temple and his nose runs along Derek’s stubbled cheek.

He breathes in deeply.

“Now you know.”  


Derek’s eyes go dark and their prison plummets into blackness again, but Stiles’ heart doesn’t quicken with fear.

+

Stiles is right on the verge of passing out from oxygen deprivation when Derek’s hands come to cover his ears.

He lets out an almighty howl that shakes the foundation of their coffin and moonlight, real moonlight, comes pouring in only moments later.

Scott, looking a little worse for wear and a touch confused, grins at them and helps them out.

+

When Stiles later wakes in his bed, morning light coming in through his window, he is unsurprised to find Derek sitting on his floor. His back is resting against the side of Stiles’ bed and his eyes are shut in a probably shallow sleep. Stiles smiles to himself and maneuvers himself under his blanket to get his face close enough to Derek’s to kiss his cheek.

Derek’s eyes open slowly, despite his sharp intake at the touch. He looks into Stiles’ tired eyes, hair mussed and brow relaxed with fatigue and Stiles is overwhelmed with fondness for him. Overwhelmed too with a fondness for his own life.

With Derek looking back at him, he leans in again and kisses Derek’s dry lips.

He’s warmer and softer than Stiles imagined him to be.

When the kiss breaks and they’re just glancing into each other’s eyes like uncertainty is a luxury they can afford, Stiles considers saying something cheesy like, ‘don’t climb into Hell for me, just climb into bed with me.’ 

Luckily, Derek gets the hint without him making a fool of himself.

He gets under the blanket with Stiles and pulls him in close and Stiles sleeps, for the moment, unafraid.


End file.
